smile hostage refuge [chapter seven]
Title: Smile Hostage Refuge
Pairing: Max/Craig
Rating: Strong R
POV: First & third
Disclaimer: Fake. Title belongs to The Used.
Prelude | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
The line goes silent.
“Craig?” Max sniffs into his phone, attempting to harden his voice so that he doesn’t sound so pathetic.
Mathers, who has been holding the cell to Max’s ear, pulls it away and glances at it. “It’s dead.”
“I didn’t pay my phone bill this month,” Max hisses wetly, mockingly. He doesn’t attempt to look over his shoulder at his throbbing, crippled fingers (has the electrical wire loosened or has it just cut further into the flesh of his wrists?), and doesn’t touch them against anything. He pretends that they don’t feel like they’re on fire.
“It figures,” Mathers mutters, and tosses the mobile in a fit of frustration. Max hears it clatter in the sink. His abductor pauses in his stride, and Max, shaking, eyes the bloodied, discarded candelabrum with trepidation.
Mathers lurches forward and bends Max over the bathtub, one hand closed over Max’s windpipe. “Let’s try something fun,” he says. And just like that, he releases Max and straightens, walks out of the room and returns not a minute later with a cellular phone that is waved teasingly in front of Max’s flushed face.
“My phone,” the bassist breathes.
“And that isn’t all I’ve brought,” Mathers nearly purrs, sounding greasy and beyond pleased with himself. His other hand reveals a tall, metal candelabrum from behind his back, and Max can’t help but flinch away. After placing the cellular on the counter, Mathers’ free hand strikes out like a viper to snag a handful of Max’s hair, fingernails raking his scalp and tugging.
“Do what I want or I’ll fuck you with it,” is the warning Max receives as he’s pressed against the bathtub once again, Mathers pulling his arms up behind him and forcing his fingers to lay flat, palms up, on the ledge. Max doesn’t dare let them curl, even though a severe foreboding informs him that this will end badly whether he disobeys or not.
Max is gasping for breath, trying to control himself although he’s paralyzed with fear of what’s to come. “Dude, please,” he says, shaking his head back and forth. “Don’t-”
Mathers smiles down at him, and brings the bottom end of the candlestick down on the fingers of his awaiting left hand with such fury and force that the candlestick bounces back up upon impact. Max feels his skin snap open and his bones splinter.
It takes a moment for him to respond, but suddenly the pain is exploding up his entire left arm and Mathers drops his weapon, grabbing calmly for the phone and easily spotting Craig’s saved number.
Mathers sighs, bends at the waist and picks up the candelabrum, holding it at eye-level and examining it.
“Despite the short conversation, I think it’s safe to say that Mabbitt has grasped the gist of the situation,” he says, smirking. “But now we have no other way of making contact due to your idiocy.”
Max doesn’t respond -barely hears, in fact- as his attention is surfing away from him on a giant tidal wave of torment.
“Maybe we should make videotapes and send them to him.”
But Max definitely hears that, his anger instantaneously restoring some strength in him. Nothing of the sort can happen - he won’t let it.
Because he doesn’t want Craig to sit at home and chew his nails to the quick, going out of his mind with worry. Because he will, and Max knows it.
And he’s only made it worse, so far. He can’t believe he let Craig hear him cry, can’t believe he lost control on the phone like that.
“Burn in hell, dickhead,” he grates, and puts everything he’s got into his glare. “Shit for a soul, you’ll pay for everyth-”
The bottom end of the candelabrum connects with his temple this time and sends him careening onto his side, his blood spattering onto the wall behind him. This new, blinding agony causes him to momentarily forget his fingers, but he figures he’ll feel every little bit of his due suffering later.
Mathers looms over him, still wielding the dreaded thing. It feels wrong, unnatural to Max, since he can’t even bring his hands up to shield himself.
“I should break your other hand,” Mathers states.
Max gazes at the tile he’s currently sprawled on and blinks when blood runs into his eyes. His vision is blotting and darkening, and he can count the proverbial stars. He slips out of consciousness and reawakens only a minute later.
Much too soon, in his opinion.
And then Mathers is pulling him up by his arm, dragging him by the crook of his elbow back into the bedroom where he shoves Max on the bed. He collapses on the familiar mattress with a soft cry, hot blood and hotter tears smearing his face.
Max feels an overwhelming sense of defeat.
So he remains still when Mathers puts his blindfold back on (“to heighten your senses,” he says) and reapplies the tape to his raw lips.
The doorbell rings just then and there's a pause before he hears Mathers leave the room. At last, he’s alone.
‘You’re fucked,’ he thinks, but he’s not exactly sure if he means himself or his captor.
::
Chase Mathers squints through the peep hole in the door and then draws back so that he can open it a couple of inches. He sees Kacey (although that’s probably not his real name) and leers behind the stoic figure to assure that he’s come alone. Only then does he grant him entrance.
Kacey wordlessly holds out his hand and Chase retrieves a small bundle of dollar bills from his pant pocket. Hands it over.
“Everything I owed you from your last visit is there, too.”
“A pleasure.”
From within his jacket, Kacey produces a block of powdered heroin and remains cool and collected as Chase reaches out to take it. With the transaction completed, he turns around and makes to open the door so that he can leave, but his client stops him.
“Wait.”
Kacey evaluates him from over his shoulder, brow raised.
“Do you remember the boy I was telling you about? Come and see.”
Kacey reluctantly allows himself to be led up the stairs, uneasy because his business does not in any way require a house tour. He also knows the importance of discretion and the fact that it’s risky and dangerous to get involved in personal lives.
When they come to Max’s door, Kacey hesitates.
“He’s blindfolded,” Chase reassures him. “He can’t see you.”
With that said, the door is unlocked and pushed open, and Kacey trails in as Chase rushes towards the bed to stand beside a limp body clad only in boxers and a dirty t-shirt, gesturing as if to say Voila!
“I wanted to give you a gift,” Chase begins. “For being reliable and trustworthy. He’s yours for an hour, to do whatever you please with.”
Max’s heart sinks. He starts to say ‘fuck you,’ but it comes out only as noise from beneath the duct tape.
Chase reaches down and squeezes Max’s broken fingers and smiles politely to Kacey as his captive erupts into screams.
“I can give him a hit and he’ll be much more willing, if that’s how you prefer them,” Chase promises, waving his newly purchased skag. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve gone way too far with this,” Kacey replies disgustedly, surprising everyone in the room.
Max, breathless and hurting so bad, wants to sob with relief. Wants to be able to look this stranger in the eye and thank him.
Ask him, please fucking help me.
Mathers’ voice turns cold. “I wasn’t looking for your approval. If you’re going to snub my offer then I’ll show you out, now.”
The last thing Max hears of his could-be savior is, “Bandage his head. You wouldn’t want to break your toy.”
::
The day after my surprise visit from Matt and Beau, I find out that Gab has had an affair.
“You were spending weeks at a time in L.A., touring constantly, recording... I don’t even know how it happened! Craig, I’m sorry.”
I stare at her.
“If you don’t love me anymore, you should have just said so. Really. Tell me to fuck off and I’ll go right now.”
I don’t know why I bother- God knows I’ll take her back, anyway.
She stops her sniveling, frowning up at me from where she sits at the kitchen table. She genuinely looks torn. “Craig,” she says quietly. “Of course I love you.”
I just stand there, my mind strangely empty. I shift my weight onto the other foot and, thankfully, she continues.
“You’re just never home anymore. And now with this whole Max thing?”
"Every time I'm here you just watch t.v. and play computer games," I argue, flabbergasted. "You never want to go out. I don't see you actually ever put any effort into this relationship."
"I'm always taking care of Leila!"
"You're lazy," I say. I've had this shit on my chest for too long now. "You never drive out to see me, even though I bought you the car you wanted. You don't even have a job. So how is it too much to ask for a little support right now?"
"Dude, you're an asshole. Can we just talk about this later?"
It's so like her just to blow it off. I'm for sure sleeping on the couch tonight.
::
Mathers returns a little while later to shoot him up and continues to do so for the rest of the day, making sure Max never comes down from his high.
That night, his inner arm burns, itches, stings, and scabs; constantly hot and cold at the same time. He can’t find sleep, because all he wants is more of the drug.
Pairing: Max/Craig
Rating: Strong R
POV: First & third
Disclaimer: Fake. Title belongs to The Used.
Prelude | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
The line goes silent.
“Craig?” Max sniffs into his phone, attempting to harden his voice so that he doesn’t sound so pathetic.
Mathers, who has been holding the cell to Max’s ear, pulls it away and glances at it. “It’s dead.”
“I didn’t pay my phone bill this month,” Max hisses wetly, mockingly. He doesn’t attempt to look over his shoulder at his throbbing, crippled fingers (has the electrical wire loosened or has it just cut further into the flesh of his wrists?), and doesn’t touch them against anything. He pretends that they don’t feel like they’re on fire.
“It figures,” Mathers mutters, and tosses the mobile in a fit of frustration. Max hears it clatter in the sink. His abductor pauses in his stride, and Max, shaking, eyes the bloodied, discarded candelabrum with trepidation.
Mathers lurches forward and bends Max over the bathtub, one hand closed over Max’s windpipe. “Let’s try something fun,” he says. And just like that, he releases Max and straightens, walks out of the room and returns not a minute later with a cellular phone that is waved teasingly in front of Max’s flushed face.
“My phone,” the bassist breathes.
“And that isn’t all I’ve brought,” Mathers nearly purrs, sounding greasy and beyond pleased with himself. His other hand reveals a tall, metal candelabrum from behind his back, and Max can’t help but flinch away. After placing the cellular on the counter, Mathers’ free hand strikes out like a viper to snag a handful of Max’s hair, fingernails raking his scalp and tugging.
“Do what I want or I’ll fuck you with it,” is the warning Max receives as he’s pressed against the bathtub once again, Mathers pulling his arms up behind him and forcing his fingers to lay flat, palms up, on the ledge. Max doesn’t dare let them curl, even though a severe foreboding informs him that this will end badly whether he disobeys or not.
Max is gasping for breath, trying to control himself although he’s paralyzed with fear of what’s to come. “Dude, please,” he says, shaking his head back and forth. “Don’t-”
Mathers smiles down at him, and brings the bottom end of the candlestick down on the fingers of his awaiting left hand with such fury and force that the candlestick bounces back up upon impact. Max feels his skin snap open and his bones splinter.
It takes a moment for him to respond, but suddenly the pain is exploding up his entire left arm and Mathers drops his weapon, grabbing calmly for the phone and easily spotting Craig’s saved number.
Mathers sighs, bends at the waist and picks up the candelabrum, holding it at eye-level and examining it.
“Despite the short conversation, I think it’s safe to say that Mabbitt has grasped the gist of the situation,” he says, smirking. “But now we have no other way of making contact due to your idiocy.”
Max doesn’t respond -barely hears, in fact- as his attention is surfing away from him on a giant tidal wave of torment.
“Maybe we should make videotapes and send them to him.”
But Max definitely hears that, his anger instantaneously restoring some strength in him. Nothing of the sort can happen - he won’t let it.
Because he doesn’t want Craig to sit at home and chew his nails to the quick, going out of his mind with worry. Because he will, and Max knows it.
And he’s only made it worse, so far. He can’t believe he let Craig hear him cry, can’t believe he lost control on the phone like that.
“Burn in hell, dickhead,” he grates, and puts everything he’s got into his glare. “Shit for a soul, you’ll pay for everyth-”
The bottom end of the candelabrum connects with his temple this time and sends him careening onto his side, his blood spattering onto the wall behind him. This new, blinding agony causes him to momentarily forget his fingers, but he figures he’ll feel every little bit of his due suffering later.
Mathers looms over him, still wielding the dreaded thing. It feels wrong, unnatural to Max, since he can’t even bring his hands up to shield himself.
“I should break your other hand,” Mathers states.
Max gazes at the tile he’s currently sprawled on and blinks when blood runs into his eyes. His vision is blotting and darkening, and he can count the proverbial stars. He slips out of consciousness and reawakens only a minute later.
Much too soon, in his opinion.
And then Mathers is pulling him up by his arm, dragging him by the crook of his elbow back into the bedroom where he shoves Max on the bed. He collapses on the familiar mattress with a soft cry, hot blood and hotter tears smearing his face.
Max feels an overwhelming sense of defeat.
So he remains still when Mathers puts his blindfold back on (“to heighten your senses,” he says) and reapplies the tape to his raw lips.
The doorbell rings just then and there's a pause before he hears Mathers leave the room. At last, he’s alone.
‘You’re fucked,’ he thinks, but he’s not exactly sure if he means himself or his captor.
::
Chase Mathers squints through the peep hole in the door and then draws back so that he can open it a couple of inches. He sees Kacey (although that’s probably not his real name) and leers behind the stoic figure to assure that he’s come alone. Only then does he grant him entrance.
Kacey wordlessly holds out his hand and Chase retrieves a small bundle of dollar bills from his pant pocket. Hands it over.
“Everything I owed you from your last visit is there, too.”
“A pleasure.”
From within his jacket, Kacey produces a block of powdered heroin and remains cool and collected as Chase reaches out to take it. With the transaction completed, he turns around and makes to open the door so that he can leave, but his client stops him.
“Wait.”
Kacey evaluates him from over his shoulder, brow raised.
“Do you remember the boy I was telling you about? Come and see.”
Kacey reluctantly allows himself to be led up the stairs, uneasy because his business does not in any way require a house tour. He also knows the importance of discretion and the fact that it’s risky and dangerous to get involved in personal lives.
When they come to Max’s door, Kacey hesitates.
“He’s blindfolded,” Chase reassures him. “He can’t see you.”
With that said, the door is unlocked and pushed open, and Kacey trails in as Chase rushes towards the bed to stand beside a limp body clad only in boxers and a dirty t-shirt, gesturing as if to say Voila!
“I wanted to give you a gift,” Chase begins. “For being reliable and trustworthy. He’s yours for an hour, to do whatever you please with.”
Max’s heart sinks. He starts to say ‘fuck you,’ but it comes out only as noise from beneath the duct tape.
Chase reaches down and squeezes Max’s broken fingers and smiles politely to Kacey as his captive erupts into screams.
“I can give him a hit and he’ll be much more willing, if that’s how you prefer them,” Chase promises, waving his newly purchased skag. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve gone way too far with this,” Kacey replies disgustedly, surprising everyone in the room.
Max, breathless and hurting so bad, wants to sob with relief. Wants to be able to look this stranger in the eye and thank him.
Ask him, please fucking help me.
Mathers’ voice turns cold. “I wasn’t looking for your approval. If you’re going to snub my offer then I’ll show you out, now.”
The last thing Max hears of his could-be savior is, “Bandage his head. You wouldn’t want to break your toy.”
::
The day after my surprise visit from Matt and Beau, I find out that Gab has had an affair.
“You were spending weeks at a time in L.A., touring constantly, recording... I don’t even know how it happened! Craig, I’m sorry.”
I stare at her.
“If you don’t love me anymore, you should have just said so. Really. Tell me to fuck off and I’ll go right now.”
I don’t know why I bother- God knows I’ll take her back, anyway.
She stops her sniveling, frowning up at me from where she sits at the kitchen table. She genuinely looks torn. “Craig,” she says quietly. “Of course I love you.”
I just stand there, my mind strangely empty. I shift my weight onto the other foot and, thankfully, she continues.
“You’re just never home anymore. And now with this whole Max thing?”
"Every time I'm here you just watch t.v. and play computer games," I argue, flabbergasted. "You never want to go out. I don't see you actually ever put any effort into this relationship."
"I'm always taking care of Leila!"
"You're lazy," I say. I've had this shit on my chest for too long now. "You never drive out to see me, even though I bought you the car you wanted. You don't even have a job. So how is it too much to ask for a little support right now?"
"Dude, you're an asshole. Can we just talk about this later?"
It's so like her just to blow it off. I'm for sure sleeping on the couch tonight.
::
Mathers returns a little while later to shoot him up and continues to do so for the rest of the day, making sure Max never comes down from his high.
That night, his inner arm burns, itches, stings, and scabs; constantly hot and cold at the same time. He can’t find sleep, because all he wants is more of the drug.